


Roses Are Red (With My Blood)

by starsandsupernovae



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Illnesses, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Stony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae/pseuds/starsandsupernovae
Summary: Both Tony and Steve are suffering in the aftermath of CACW





	Roses Are Red (With My Blood)

**Author's Note:**

> So for those of you who don't know- hanahaki disease is one where roses or other flowers grow in the lungs of someone who is suffering from unrequited love (or thinks they are) and can only be cured if the target of their affection returns their love.  
> Thanks to @lovelyirony on tumblr who helped me with this a lot

Tony gasped, tried desperately to inhale as he coughed, bending forward with the force of it, coughing harder, trying to dislodge whatever was clawing up his throat, obstructing his breathing. He grabbed onto the table with one hand, trying to hold himself upright, bringing the other up to his mouth-and coughed something right into it.

He closed his hand into a fist instinctively, sitting heavily in his chair, not wanting to look at what he knew was in his hand, gently rubbing against his palm. He brought his closed fist up slowly before uncurling his fingers, letting the crumpled petal unfurl. He stared at it, the whiteness of the skin stained with droplets of his crimson blood, staring back up at him, mocking him for having dared to love.

“Sir-“ JARVIS sounded gentle as his voice came from the computer, knowing what the diagnosis was, what it meant.

“I know.” Tony whispered, the words scraping roughly against his throat as he spoke. It was a perfect irony really that this would happen to him, he who everyone thought could not love, now doomed to die of it. He heard JARVIS speaking again, proposing possible new experimental solutions, offering up far-fetched possibilities but it was all drowned out in favor of his focus on the petal lying in the surface of his palm. “I know.”

\------------------------------------

Steve tried to keep his coughs silent as be bent almost double, tendrils of vine sneaking up his throat obstructing his air. He sat down heavily on the low metal cot, clutching at his chest as though merely by doing so he could kill the infection inside. Finally, he choked it up, gasping, tears springing to his eyes as his body screamed out for more air. He saw the bud tumble to the floor, it’s pure bright white contrasting with the filthy gray of the floor, a terrible beauty against the ugliness of the safehouse. 

He grabbed it up, red blood staining his fingers as he did so, crushing it in his hands before dropping it into the small sink in the corner of the room. He heard Natasha outside, talking about the mission, and before he could react she was swinging the door open to call him.

“Steve, are you coming or-” She broke off as she took in the scene, Steve with his bloodstained fingers the bud still only half down the drain, and perhaps worst of all, the notebook open on his bed. 

“Oh, Steve.” her voice was soft as she added it all up, connected the dots to form a horrific picture full of loss and pain.

“I’m fine,” Steve said, meaning for the words to come out sharply, only managing a low tone that Natasha could barely hear. He washed the red from his fingers, the rusty water filthy the bud before washing it down. He snapped the notebook shut and stared at Natasha. “I’m fine. And yes. I’m coming. Give me a moment.”

She looked at him, opened her mouth to say something, perhaps a protest but thought the better of it, merely saying

“I’ll see you outside.” before she was gone leaving Steve alone with his notebook, the one with his guide to the future, the one in which down he wrote everything he still needed to know, everything he had learned and loved, from the smallest details to the most important, and recently all he had loved and lost. He opened the notebook to where he had been holding it before, to a page with no words, just a drawing, a drawing of the most beautiful man in the world, the man he had hurt and as a result of that, Steve reminded himself picking up the petal that had been laying on top, Steve himself was now dying. He rubbed the delicate white petal gently between his fingers, feeling over the spots where red blood had dried to brown splotches marring the surface, before gently setting it back down, having gotten together the strength to join the others waiting for him. He closed the book but not before addressing the man who’s likeness, smiling and speaking of long gone happier times was beaming up at him from the page, his voice cracking from both the words and the thorns in his lungs.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

He turned and exited the room. Perhaps he wasn’t worthy of Tony’s love and never would be. But he could try.


End file.
